The Madness of Mercury (22 page)

I
MADE MY EXCUSES
to Dorothy after the family reunion in Evandra’s sitting room. Gudrun had been present as well, but sat quietly in a corner. I was still shaken about seeing her at the Prophet’s Tabernacle meeting and determined to keep a close eye on her while I was at the house. I explained to Dorothy that I had a few holiday errands to run and a client to meet later at the Mystic Eye, and she followed me to the front door.

“I don’t believe him for a second, Julia,” Dorothy fumed. “Did you hear how he’s sucking up to them? Aunt Evandra this and Aunt Eunice that! And now he’s staying here!”

I let Dorothy vent.

“He could be anybody,” she continued. “He could be a complete imposter. Our family history isn’t a secret; anyone could have discovered that my uncle ran off to Australia and made up this damn story.” Dorothy’s face betrayed her emotion. Bright red spots appeared on her cheeks and her voice rose as she reviewed the possibilities. She was gripping my arm so tightly, I winced.

“That’s true.” I agreed. “But you need to calm down. Getting so upset isn’t going to do anyone any good.”

It was as if she didn’t hear me. “There’s got to be some records somewhere, even if it was Australia seventy years ago … a passport photo, an ID, birth and death records … something. I don’t know how to go about it, but I’m sure he’s an imposter.”

“Why don’t we wait until he’s shown us his research into the family tree and decide then? You can still hire someone to check it out.”

“Julia, you don’t understand. In the meantime, he’s ingratiating himself with my aunts. It’ll break their hearts if they find out later he’s a fake. I’m worried what it’ll do to them. There’s too much at stake to take him at face value.”

“I agree. You’ll have to call your attorney and investigate his story.”

Dorothy could have gone on for another hour with her diatribe. I could tell she was overreacting, in an obsessive manner that I’d witnessed before. I needed to escape. We reached the front door, and I pulled on my coat and grabbed my purse.

“Listen, I’ll be back early,” I said. “Please don’t grind about this for now. We’ll put our heads together and figure out what to do.”

Dorothy took a deep breath. “You’re right. Come back for dinner around five if you can make it. Richard will be here and he wants to cook. When are we starting the séance?”

“They’ll be here at eight thirty.”

“Fine.” Dorothy’s expression indicated she still wasn’t happy about hosting, but she seemed to have become slightly more resigned to the household circus.

It was two p.m. by the time I reached Union Square to search for the sweater for Cheryl. The sky had darkened, promising yet another storm that afternoon or evening. Once again I parked in the underground lot, making sure to get a spot on the upper level where many people would be walking by. I certainly didn’t want a repeat of the other night. I didn’t spot any of the Prophet’s followers as I emerged from the garage. In my current mood, I might be tempted to commit assault and battery.

The sidewalks were crowded all around the square but I managed to maneuver my way across Geary. Inside the department store, the aisles were decorated with fake greenery and large shiny balls hanging from the ceiling, and piped-in music sang of snowmen and church bells. I found a friendly saleswoman on the second floor. How anyone could manage to smile this time of year was beyond me. When I explained my errand, she brightened and said, “You’re not going to believe this! One was just returned. Let me dig it out from the back.” She left the desk and returned a few minutes later with the lovely sweater scattered with pearls.

“Thank you! This was worth the trip down here.”

The saleslady re-wrapped the gift in fresh tissue and placed a folded gift box inside my bag. I pictured Cheryl’s face when she opened the present and smiled to myself. And I breathed a sigh of relief that I could cross one more thing off my list. After retrieving my car without incident, I paid the fee and headed along Market to Fisherman’s Wharf. Only Gale was left on my list, and I had no ideas. The Wharf would be a zoo. It always was; just a bigger zoo this time of year. But there were several nice shops and street artists and perhaps something would call to me.

The light turned red at the corner of Columbus and Stockton. I hit the brakes. A group of young people with the bright blue armbands of the Army of the Prophet were shoving flyers into the hands of passersby. What was the appeal? Particularly for the very young? A need to belong? Some twisted tribal urge? How easy it is for the power-hungry to seduce those who want answers. But were they that different from myself? We all want answers, we all want the “truth”—confirmation that the universe is a good place and that we’re protected from harm. We all want to believe there is an order. After all, isn’t that what astrology is all about? Who are you, Julia, I thought, to judge and look down your nose? You’re one of the lucky ones. You have no need for a Reverend Roy.

At Fisherman’s Wharf I managed to find a parking space near the Maritime Museum; nothing short of a miracle. I walked toward the old Ghirardelli chocolate factory, now converted into artisan shops, and meandered through a warren of small stores in a brick-lined alley. I was pretty sure I hadn’t been followed the last day or so, but I glanced over my shoulder occasionally to reassure myself. In one window I spotted a small lamp fashioned from deeply tanned goat skins and shaped in an asymmetrical, three-sided pyramid. It cast a lovely muted light. I knew Gale would love one of these. It would appeal to her taste for the exotic and tribal. Discreetly, I checked the price tag and was overjoyed to find it reasonable. I paid and, clutching my find, hurried back to the car. At the corner, I saw yet another group wearing the armbands of the Army of the Prophet and passing out more flyers. I crossed the street and ignored them, as did many others. A stray flyer flew through the air and landed on the sidewalk in front of me, marked by the same bold Gothic lettering. The Prophet was everywhere.

I pulled out of my parking space and maneuvered to get free of the bumper to bumper traffic. As I reached Columbus, I hit a red light and heard sirens. Across the divided street, a police car had pulled up in front of a building that housed a women’s clinic. Two patrol cars were already double parked there. Again I spotted the bright blue armbands in the crowd. The clinic, I happened to know, offered low-cost medical care, family planning, and abortions. A young woman sat on the curb, crying, blood running down her face. The police had lined four men up against the wall of the building. An officer had cuffed one of the men and was moving him into the back of a patrol car. A curious crowd had gathered to watch. No one seemed to notice the young woman at the curb. A horn blasted behind me. I looked up quickly. The light had turned to green and an angry driver was glaring at me. I hit the gas and didn’t stop until I turned the corner on Broadway.

At the Mystic Eye, twenty or so people were kneeling outside on the sidewalk. The Army’s dance card was really full today. I drove past slowly and rolled down my car window to get a better look. One man held a large sign that read “
BLASPHEMERS.”
I saw two transvestites in full gear prancing around the prayer meeting, laughing and shouting epithets. An angry man came out of a Vietnamese restaurant two doors up, lugging a large bucket of bilge water which he aimed downhill toward the Mystic Eye. The small flood got everyone to their feet. The action had halted traffic. I sat in my car, transfixed by the scene, until a horn blared behind me again. I pulled around the corner on Stockton and drove down the alley to park in back of the shop.

This wasn’t good. The client I was meeting would be completely freaked, and I wasn’t even sure she’d manage to make her way through the crowd. This had to stop. It would deal a serious blow to the shop’s budget, not to mention what it would do to my income. I turned off the engine, hopped out, and pushed on the Eye’s back door. It was unlocked. I could hear Gale shouting as I came through from the back room.

“They’ve had it. Reverend Roy and his followers are
finished
,” she hissed. Cheryl was manning the counter of the empty shop.

Gale rushed to the front door and pulled it open. “Barbarians!” she screamed at them. “Freaks! Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of. I’ve called the police!” Her outburst seemed to have no effect. The crowd was singing a lugubrious hymn as they moved in a circle.

Gale returned to the threshold and slammed the door behind her. “Julia!”

“I’m supposed to be meeting a client here, but I doubt she’ll show with this going on.” As if on cue, my cell phone rang.

“Hi, Julia?”

“Yes.”

“My God, what’s happening? I just drove by the Mystic Eye and there are people out there singing and blocking the entrance.”

“I know. I’m here now. If you pull into the alleyway, you can park in back. I’ll meet you at the back door. The police are on their way, so no need to be afraid.”

“This is too much, Julia. I really don’t want to go anywhere near that crowd.”

“I apologize. I’m very sorry this is happening. Would you like to reschedule for another time?”

“I really don’t think so. You can’t possibly expect me to go anywhere near that shop. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m not even sure I believe in astrology.” The line went dead. She’d hung up.

I groaned.

Gale glanced over. “What’s wrong?”

“Just lost a client.”

“Well, it’s her loss. Don’t dwell on it. But do get away from that window. Who knows what they’ll do next.”

While I watched, a few passersby shouted obscenities at the picketers. A woman wearing a white apron came out of the Italian café across the street and shook her fist. Then she pulled two overripe tomatoes out of her apron pocket and, waiting for a break in traffic, walked to the middle of the street, then hauled off and pelted a couple of the marchers. It had no effect. They stared at her and called out “Join the Lord” as they continued marching.

I walked to the back of the shop and peered out. None of the Prophet’s followers were in sight. They probably thought they’d get more attention in plain sight on Broadway. I heard sirens and returned to the front. The police were busy dispersing the crowd, most of whom had skittered away as soon as they saw the police.

Gale rushed outside and I followed her. She stood with her hands on her hips talking to one of the patrolmen. “Look, I want someone here at all times. Aren’t there off-duty cops that want some extra work? I know they’ll work on film shoots.”

The two men listened patiently. One of them finally spoke. “You’ll have to talk to the watch captain about that, but I’m sure you could arrange it. It’ll cost some money though.”

“I don’t care. I just don’t want those crazy people anywhere near my shop. I don’t want them in the city at all.”

“We can cite them for gathering without a permit, or interfering on city property, but other than that, they’re entitled to their opinions.”

“Like hell they are.” Gale was spitting mad. The second cop slid his eyes to the other to gauge his reaction. The first officer seemed more sympathetic.

“I agree with you,” he said. “I don’t like them either. They’ve caused a lot of problems in other locations too. But unless they break the law, there’s not much we can do. Do you know who any of these individuals are? Can you give us any information about them?”

Gale took a deep breath. I could see she was struggling to calm down. “They’re connected to the Reverend Roy and the Prophet’s Tabernacle, but other than that, I don’t have any names. I want you to talk to the detective in charge at the SFPD. I’ll get you his name. He’s the one investigating the arson attempt.”

The second patrolman, not so well informed, asked, “You mean the guy with the TV show? What do they call it …
Prophet TV
?”

“He’s hassling everybody, especially in this part of town. He holds his meetings up on Mason. He says he’s waging war on sin in San Francisco,” Gale replied sarcastically.

“He’s got his work cut out for him then,” the older officer guffawed. “But seriously, we’ve had a lot of complaints all over town and everyone says the same thing. The Reverend’s behind it. Hard to believe. He does a lot of good things in the city. He helps a lot of people.”

Gale nodded. “Sure he does, as long as you’re in complete agreement with him. He’s got a mandate from God.”

T
WENTY-
S
IX